


Resolution

by RisuAlto



Series: Tumblr Ask Prompt Fills [13]
Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Death, Grief, M/M, Moving On, spoilers for campaign 1
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-18
Updated: 2019-11-18
Packaged: 2021-04-03 16:55:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,120
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21479518
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RisuAlto/pseuds/RisuAlto
Summary: Rarely do people consider the anguish of spirits able to see the loved ones they left behind, even as they turn to them for comfort.
Relationships: Mollymauk Tealeaf & Vax'ildan, Mollymauk Tealeaf/Caleb Widogast
Series: Tumblr Ask Prompt Fills [13]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1547980
Comments: 2
Kudos: 39





	Resolution

**Author's Note:**

  * For [nana_banana](https://archiveofourown.org/users/nana_banana/gifts).

> This prompt was, "Voice hitching as they speak."

They were in a tavern again, Molly thought, but it was hazy and hard to tell just what kind of place it was. Low torchlight shimmered on the surface of the bar, on the tin of the glasses, and in the eyes of the patrons… or at least, Molly presumed as such. He could only see one of them.

It was apparently just how this worked, some guy with black hair (and black armor and black wings and so on and so forth… Molly admired his dedication to the aesthetic, really) had told him when he arrived. Glimpses into the world of the living were sparse, vague, and frustrating, because those connections only slowed down the process of moving on. Apparently, the Matron didn’t take too kindly to house guests.

But there also wasn’t much the goddess of death could do to get rid of him when his soul was so spectacularly caught between cosmic forces. There were too many claims on it, and the goddess herself couldn’t push his soul in one direction without it being torn apart by some force from the opposite, so she did nothing. Molly thought it should have been his choice. The Matron didn’t give a damn.

So instead, he floated in limbo and waited, and when he could, he watched his friends. He watched them save Yasha and Jester and Fjord. He watched them grieve and watched Yasha vanish into the storms; watched them pick up a new friend and go back for an old one (and oh, he was glad that the new guy call Gustav’s bullshit); watched them travel and fight and laugh and heal and just _be._ They made him proud—and so incredibly sad.

But in this moment, something was different. The glimpses he caught into the world of the living were usually fuzzy, like looking through steam, but they were dynamic and alive. Before him now was an image of only one man and he was so still that if not for the dancing lights (_ha_, he thought) in the room, Molly would have thought time was frozen solid.

Through the veil, Caleb was seated by the bar in that indistinct tavern, bandaged hands curled around a dinged-up tankard and head falling forward as though he was crushed by some weight on his back. There was no one else there, not even Nott. Just Caleb. And Molly barely had a second to take in the image and register its strangeness before he heard a whisper. It was a thick, strangled sound, heavy with regret and rage.

“Mollymauk.” The syllables were familiar, but Caleb’s emotions tore through them like ribbons and Molly wasn’t sure he really recognized his own name. He’d never heard it like that before. Caleb’s head bounced side to side. “_Tut mir Leid_.”

Caleb fell. The alcohol in his body had shattered him like ice bursting through cracked stone and his head smacked down into the wood. Molly felt the impact resonate in his temple and the image vanished, rippling away into darkness.

There was a hand on his shoulder, then, but Molly couldn’t move. Some part of him hoped that if he just stared hard enough, the image would come back. 

He didn’t know what he could do if it did, but anything was better than this.

“He cared for you,” said the voice behind him. “I’m sorry.”

Molly growled, whipping around on his heel. “Sure you are. What do angels of death feel, anyw—” He froze, tail wrapping around his calves from the violent momentum. The being—_no_, Molly realized, the _man_—who had stood behind him was staring off into the distance, hazel eyes strangely warm as they swam with a depth of emotion so impossible that Molly nearly stumbled in its wake.

“I feel the same as you,” the angel murmured, gently offended, and those eyes were fixed on Molly again.

The words came before Molly could think better of it. “I didn’t want to leave them,” he said, voice rolling through his throat like molasses. “I wasn’t _done_ down there, I wasn’t—”

He choked, and the flood stopped, as though a ghost still needed air to exist. A venomous smile twisted his face, and, in its severity, Molly felt one of his fangs pierce his lip. There was no blood there anymore, so all that flowed forth was anger.

“I had—so much to do,” he spat. The smile melted. His chin dropped and the jewelry on his horns clinked like windchimes as he moved, echoing through the expanse of the realm. “We could’ve—_should _have been _amazing_. I should have had more. We had so far to go, and now I can’t—”

Molly felt warmth on his shoulders again and he was jerked forward into an embrace. It was nothing like any he had felt before, somehow warm and still and terribly sad at the same time. The leather armor under his cheek was unmoving, no breath passing through the chest it protected, and yet Molly found himself comforted. His ragged gasps began to stitch themselves back together into something more even.

“You went as far as you could,” rumbled the angel’s voice, “and soon you’ll have a new path. But the thing I have learned about friends—especially friends like those—is that they will always carry a part of you, Mollymauk Tealeaf.” The angel pulled back to meet his eyes, but his gloved, slender fingers held Molly’s shoulders tight, sealing a promise with their grip. “You get to rest now. But your journey is not over. Never forget that you left their world a fuller place.”

Molly hissed and slammed his eyes shut against the tears, but a few rolled down his cheeks anyway. He reached up to brush them off, but the skin under his fingers was dry. His brow furrowed, lips pursed, and Molly opened his eyes again.

Clutched between his forefinger and thumb was a tiny, white flower, petals drooping like heavy drops of rain and shining like a star in the infinite darkness.

He tucked it behind his ear and sat down on the ground. His posture was tight and proper, but appropriately dramatic rather than stressed, as though he was about to do a tarot reading.

“Caleb,” he said, voice steady but soft, as his hands came to rest on his knees, “you’re allowed to be sad. Honestly, I’d even say I’m flattered. But don’t you dare let me hold you back. You’re too brilliant for that shit. And ‘cause _nobody_ deserved to be chained to a past they couldn’t do a damn thing about.”

Somewhere, then, something finally snapped. The pressure on his soul gave way. And the Matron of Ravens smiled.


End file.
